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The journey to Baron Bolton’s Territory was pleasant and leisurely, as one would expect in summer.

It wasn’t just because there was an A-Class Adventurer and a Grand Wizard among us.

The damp and torrential spring and early summer had long passed.

Now, with the relatively warm weather, we felt the refreshing breeze as we encountered carts, wagons, Adventurer Parties, traveling merchants, and patrolling guards every hour or so.

In such a bustling environment, there was no need to worry about normal beast attacks.

While it was possible to run into monsters like the Lower Undead, which either wandered due to defeat in territorial disputes or didn’t even have a sense of existence, that wasn’t much of a concern either.

With so many travelers around, even if monsters did attack, they would be quickly surrounded and dispatched.

Thanks to this, the trip to Baron Bolton’s Territory felt as relaxed as a business trip.

Gulp— gulp— gulp—

“Kukuhuhuh! This bone-chilling beer is really…! Here, you shouldn’t just watch! Down the hatch!!”

“W-Wait, I never thought I’d indulge in such luxury outdoors!”

The A-Class Adventurer Sigurd IV and the Adventurer Party hired to guard the wagon, led by Jurin and his band, certainly drank without hesitation.

Aindelf’s eyes lit up in delight as he filled two glasses with the refill of Eisenbart beer and politely stretched his foot out to match the speed of the wagon to hand it over through the window.

“Chef Priest! Please, please, grant us your gracious touch once more!”

“…Haa. Just a moment.”

Sighing, I brought my hand to the cup. As I lightly invoked my Divine Power, a chilling aura slowly flowed from the cup’s opening, washing over the beer.

“Oooh, oooohhh!”

“This is the last one!”

“Does it really matter, Chef Priest?!”

Ignoring the cold glares from Aindelf and his mates, he raised his beer cup slowly, yet decisively.

A Dwarf wouldn’t get drunk on mere beer, but Aindelf had been deprived of his drink during the party’s missions.

Thus, this bone-chilling beer he was finally enjoying washed away the pent-up pressure in his heart.

Gulp—

The first sensation I felt was the refreshing chill of the golden liquid that no Dwarf could ever refuse.

Typically, Eisenbart beer is thick and heavy; even one glass feels like eating a heavy loaf of bread.

But the beer I was drinking now was different.

Chilled to perfection, the golden liquid was as refreshing as ice drawn from a clear winter lake. It was also invigorating.

Thus, my body, warmed by the long-awaited sunlight, cooled rapidly like a campfire splashed with water.

Gulp— gulp— gulp—

I swallowed the liquid that filled my mouth without pause.

Hundreds, thousands of beer bubbles burst, evoking that near-deadly refreshing sensation again.

The air was cool, and the breeze was gentle in Iceland’s summer.

A cloudless sky revealed blazing sunlight.

Luxury was indulging in ice-cold Eisenbart beer while on a escort mission.

Moreover, perhaps because the beer was blessed (or not) by the esteemed Priest, a divine energy seemed to tingle up my spine and stimulate my brain.

As I emptied the glass, the aroma of rich nuts filled my nostrils, making Aindelf’s eyes go wide with delight, which was a bit unsettling.

“What is life! This is life!”

“Hmm, this young Dwarf knows a thing or two. Eisenbart’s future is bright! So why hasn’t my share been brought yet?”

Oh dear! Hahahaha! Truly the epitome of a well-behaved drunkard. Karem turned his head to ask Catherine.

“Sister, is it okay to drink so much beer on a journey?”

“The Adventurers on a quest? Surely impossible. That would be perfect for ruining our reputation.”

Karem turned his head again, following Catherine’s finger pointed out the wagon window.

“Hey, Mayflies. Is this really okay? A wanted Dwarf is teaming up with an A-Class wanted Dwarf.”

“Well, Jerika, as you said, it’s hard to refuse the invitation of an A-Class Adventurer.”

“Aah, I’m so jealous. I want to drink beer too!”

The blatant desire in Gnome Thief Klink’s words made Lumiere tap her mace on her palm.

“Why don’t you just go have a drink?”

“I won’t drink! No way! I’m afraid a fanatic will smash my head! I can’t speak!”

“…Is that a compliment?”

“Isn’t it?!”

With the noisy cacophony of Jurin and his crew filling the wagon, Karem understood. Yes, logically, it would be normal to refrain from drinking during a guard mission.

“So, do you have a reason to tolerate those drunken Dwarfs, sister?”

“It’s quite simple.”

Catherine replied with an expression that said, “Isn’t it obvious?”

“Have you ever seen a Dwarf get drunk from beer?”

“Um… no…”

I had never heard of it, nor seen it. Karem briefly recalled the Dinner Banquet in Winterhome. While everyone else was thoroughly drunk, the Dwarfs remained completely fine.

“That’s only if they drank fruit wine or distilled spirits.”

Seeing Karem’s expression, Catherine guessed his thoughts and lightly snapped her fingers.

“Your guess is exactly right.”

“Dwarfs don’t get drunk even if they drink beer?”

“That’s correct. Only Dwarfs can drink as much beer as they like without getting drunk.”

Is it a racial trait? I thought it was a truly enviable blessing that would make any drunkard want to sell their soul to possess.

“Well, it’s not such a rare trait.”

“What?”

“Even Elves don’t get drunk no matter how much wine they drink.”

“…Do they drink as excessively as Dwarfs? I can’t say I’ve seen that.”

“Oh, Elves, especially the Bersengzeto Elves, are pretty normal in that regard. They’ll get a side-eye for overindulging.”

“Vegetarians are normal in that regard…”

“Above all, if Elves drink too much wine, their faces get red in proportion.”

Isn’t that just a way of knowing when someone’s drunk?

The party continued the beer-soaked adventure between Sigurd IV and Aindelf. They drank so often that half of the large barrels of beer strapped to the small cart behind the wagon was empty after just two days.

And on the evening of the next day, amid the camping preparations, someone finally reached their limit.

Of course, it wasn’t Catherine who hired the adventurers.

As the party split up to prepare for camping, Jerika shouted.

“Enough! I can’t take it anymore!”

Pong-! Just as the Dwarf loved beer, the lone Elf, who loved wine, unleashed her rage as she pulled the cork from the bottle.

Gulp— gulp— gulp—!

Forgetting her task of gathering firewood, Jerika downed the leather pouch filled with wine instead of water as it swung back and forth in her hands.

The shadow of her drinking appeared like it belonged to a tall Dwarf with long ears.

Meanwhile, Mary, perhaps feeling an itch in her hands, rummaged through Sigurd IV’s and Jurin’s belongings, quickly setting up the campsite.

Karem sat next to Catherine without taking a break.

The evening menu was a spicy, savory goulash.

Sautéing caramelized onions and paprika in lard, they added spices. After stir-frying again, they tossed in some beef, cooked it again, and added Sigurd IV’s beer and tomatoes, letting it simmer.

As the large pot boiled vigorously, the firewood was rearranged.

They spread it out so that the pot would simmer slowly over low heat.

Once it boiled a bit, they tossed in celery, carrots, and parsnips. After adding more beer to the thick goulash and seasoning it, they covered it.

However, the aroma already wafting through the forest was enough to drive returning adventurers mad with hunger.

“Hmm? What’s this? Why the tent? Huh? What’s that smell…?”

“Oh my God, I never thought we’d get to eat such painstakingly prepared food while camping…”

“Hey, fanatic. Get a grip. This isn’t our share.”

“I never imagined stew could emit such an alluring smell.”

As Jurin tapped his staff on the ground, savoring the aroma, the returning party members nodded in unison.

Jurin and his crew organized the firewood they brought and, during their absence, stared at the bubbling pot like meerkats spotting an eagle.

Karem opened the pot lid and sprinkled it generously with dried parsley, stirring with a ladle.

The soup turned in a clock-like rotation.

Eight pairs of eyes filled with hunger followed the broth’s movement.

“Sister Catherine. Is today’s broth for us too?”

“Wasn’t that the plan all along?”

“What? That can’t be.”

Broth dishes generally need lots of ingredients to taste good.

The increasing quantity is simply an unavoidable issue.

“Well, I’ll let you believe that.”

“Alright, everyone, get your bowls and line up.”

As if it was practically a command, Jurin and his crew quickly recreated the scene from the past two days, hopping into the tents Mary had set up with bowls in hand and coming out running.

As their empty bowls filled with red broth full of meat and vegetables, they were overwhelmed with gratitude.

“Thank you for the meal, Lord Karem.”

“…I can’t take it anymore! The employer is even allowing just one drink during dinner! The beer supplier who isn’t here gave his approval, so bring me my glass, Aindelf!”

“If I had known this would happen, I would’ve saved my wine.”

“Your Grace. Looking at the color, it looks spicy. Is it Red Mask?”

“It’s the milder paprika variant, not overly spicy, but you may find it a bit…”

“No need to be modest.”

It’s not about being modest; it’s about being irreverent. Referring to someone as Your Grace is a respectful term towards higher clerics. An analogy would be calling someone “Your Grace.”

It wasn’t something to be said near a cook.

It should be reserved for elders or high priests like Elder Iona.

However, before Lumiere could finish speaking, she bowed and, bursting with her ponytail, briskly approached the party.

“Hah, geez. How irreverent.”

“Well, get used to it. It’s due to the Divine Power you carry.”

“Am I really like that?”

“…We should have a day someday to objectively assess your power.”

Catherine stated matter-of-factly and took a big bite of the goulash Mary presented.

“Ah, I don’t know.”

Stop it. As she stuffed her face with goulash, Catherine and Mary exchanged glances and burst into laughter at the same time.

“This side is too much to handle, it tickles me.”

“Is that so, Your Grace?”

“Mary, do you feel the same? Hah. More importantly.”

Before they could tease her any further, they decided to change the subject.

“Has Sigurd not returned yet?”

“Yeah. He said he was going hunting and hasn’t come back.”

“Hunting? We’re cooking stew here.”

Mary shrugged, saying she didn’t know, while in the meantime, she poured more goulash into Catherine’s empty bowl.

At that moment.

Boom- rumble rumble rumble—

The ground began to shake with a small tremor.

“Huh? Monster?”

“Stop eating, you Mayflies!”

“Why’s the buzzing persistent?!”

“Is it always like this?”

In an instant, the veteran adventurers, no longer just veterans for no reason, tossed their dishes aside and spread out, keeping alert in different directions as they felt the tremor.

“The forest ahead!”

“No, it seems that whatever’s causing it is coming closer on its own.”

As they stood up and summoned her staff, Catherine’s words echoed in agreement with the adventurers.

Across the road, beyond the darkened woods, a colossal and mysterious figure was approaching.

Boom- woosh- woosh-! rumble rumble rumble—

As the figure, recognizable even from afar, drew nearer, the trees in the opposite woods swayed, roots shifting to clear paths left and right before snapping back into place.

With the ground quaking, the rumbling grew louder as the figure came closer.

Once the outline of its form began to faintly appear in the campfire’s glow, Mary muttered.

“Tree Spirit?”

Greeeeek- squeeeeak—

A massive giant, adorned with gnarled old bark, thick trunks, and limb-like roots, slowly approached. The markings of time were clearly etched into the visible tree bark.

“A Tree Spirit? In Iceland?”

Mary’s panicked words, laced with surprise, were met with agreement from Catherine.

While ice spirits might be expected, there wouldn’t be forests in Iceland teeming with life enough to give birth to Tree Spirits.

As the sudden entity left the others speechless, Karem noticed something peculiar. Two faint glowing lights hidden within the folds of the thick upper body.

Thud— thud—

Eventually, the Tree Spirit fully stepped over the road, halting right before the campsite.

 

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